Every Sunday morning, I steam my clothes for the week. Strange, I know. But the rhythm and routine of it, the satisfaction of seeing wrinkled fabric transform into something sleek and fresh, has become a small ritual that I look forward to.

It’s reminiscent of the weekends of my childhood. My grandma would meticulously lay out church dresses for my sister and I like clockwork; our Sunday best, guiding us into a version of ourselves that felt special for the occasion.

I’ve since come to recognize that the occasion is life. And I’ve never stopped playing dress up for it. While the choice to prioritize clothing may feel vain to the vast majority, style as an extension of personhood is a psychological phenomenon. One that transcends vanity to aid in a deliberate act of self-definition.

My older sister, Kynnedi, and I dressed in our Sunday best. (Photo Courtesy/Kassydi Rone)

Fashion speaks for us before we even get the chance to open our mouths. An unspoken conversation between self and society, our clothes stake their claim as one of the most powerful forms of cultural communication.

“[Fashion] is deeply interwoven with the way we tell the world who we are, right? What our value system is, what group, what community we are a part of. You know, what we want to communicate about our personality at a specific moment in time,” Vanessa Friedman, chief fashion critic of the New York Times, tells me. “That is why I think it is something that everybody engages with, and I think it is something that people can think more actively about when they make choices. Everyone gets up in the morning and puts something on.”

Indeed, we do. There was one morning in particular, the summer after my sophomore year at USC, that I retreated to my hometown library to cocoon with my selection of the day. I wore a white lace camisole and Levi’s denim shorts, a classic canvas among a multicolored array of books.

On the way to the cozy bench deemed “my corner” for the routine two month return to Texas, I stumbled across the gold mine that is Dress Your Best Life by Dr. Dawnn Karen. Tucked away in the fashion section — a shelf only fit to fill 8 books — was a gateway into everything I had long believed but never quite had the words to articulate: the fashion psychology field.

After experiencing intimate partner violence from her ex-fiancé, Dr. Dawnn Karen was trying to heal herself. Trying to regain the sense of control, autonomy and independence that clothing allows us over our bodies. Through this journey, she trademarked the definition of fashion psychology. When asking her to explain what it meant, she didn’t hesitate.

“The formal definition is the study and treatment of how color, image, style, shape and beauty affects human behavior, while addressing cultural norms and cultural sensitivities,”she rattles off effortlessly, the weight of the words clearly committed to memory. “Nonetheless, if someone you know is like, you know, they're not as educated or maybe they're not into fashion, I'll just say, hey, it's simply creating an alignment between the internal and the external, or your attitude and your attire, essentially styling from the inside out.”

Dr. Dawnn Karen developed three core theories in fashion psychology, each centered on the relationship between clothing and emotional well-being.

Mood enhancement dressing — what she later nicknamed “dopamine dressing” — involves intentionally choosing outfits that boost one’s mood, using bright colors, bold patterns or favorite pieces to spark joy. Mood illustration dressing, or “serotonin dressing,” is the practice of dressing in alignment with one’s current emotional state, allowing clothing to serve as an outward reflection of internal feelings. Lastly, the repetitious wardrobe complex suggests that wearing the same outfit or style repeatedly can provide emotional regulation, offering stability in times of chaos and preventing extreme emotional highs or lows.

Dr. Dawnn Karen refers to these theories as the triplets born out of her assault. Now, two hours per week, she meets with a group of survivors to modify their wardrobe and reclaim an innocence that was lost.

“Clothing is incredibly vulnerable and emotional. Inevitably, when we talk about clothes it means talking about everything — emotions, aesthetics, childhood fears, body perceptions, love, relationships, desire, identity, and money,” renowned stylist Allison Bornstein writes me over email when I ask about her ‘closet therapist’ branding. “Doing a first styling session is like being on a blind date with a stranger who tells you their deepest, darkest secrets immediately, but in the best way. I approach my role as a stylist with this in mind. I allow clients to work out how they feel through what they are wearing.”

By allowing ourselves to cope with, accept and move on from the textiles that make up silhouettes of who we once were, we better embody who we are and who we will become. New York Times business reporter, Jordyn Holman, concurs.

She has shifted her closet editing mindset to emulate a practice of her fashionista friend: “When she puts that item in the donation pile, she’s trying to imagine like the recipient of it. So, if it's like a nice Calvin Klein dress, thinking about like, ‘Oh, this recent college grad will find it and be able to go into their first interview with that dress on,’ compared to it just collecting dust in my closet.”

So, yes, I understand that there is a fine line between authenticity and addiction when it comes to accumulating material things. With this version of “Retail Therapy,” however, I aim to redefine the shallow connotation of the phrase by exploring how people use personal style to process trauma and navigate major lifestyle changes.

“It's, how do you want to walk through life for the next three years? And what is that feeling? What colors, what fabric, size, textures, what's the dominant emotion you want to feel no matter what?” Dr. Dawnn reiterates the basis of my curiosity.“Because, like, the world could shift. All the war, the famine, the inflation, the people getting deported. I mean, it's so much stuff that's happening at the macrocosm that it could actually, you know, fall on your microcosm, your little world, and leave you work. But regardless of all that, we’ve been through all of that with the pandemic now, you need to be able to have control and autonomy over your personhood.”

For myself and the following five individuals, getting dressed has always been more than a necessity — it’s an anchor, a form of preparation, a way to engage with the world on our own terms.

Session 01: Nikki

On the final day of fifth grade at Spears Elementary, Nikki Steinheiser was in for a rude awakening. She showed up in her usual; an oversized football jersey, basketball shorts and neon orange and purple tennis shoes. Only this time, when she made eye contact with one of her male classmates, it felt a little too much like looking in a mirror. Down to the identical shorts.

A young Nikki ready for play in a funky tie-dye and Longhorn orange ensemble. (Photo Courtesy/Nikki Steinheiser)

“I was like, ‘Oh my God.’ It was the most mortifying thing. It really separated me from fashion and kind of lit a fire underneath me being like, ‘We can't do this anymore. It's time to invest in some sort of pants,’” Nikki recalls, the distinct memory reddening her cheeks.

Sports had long fascinated the Texas-bred athlete, and the all-consuming nature of the competitive world easily made its mark in her wardrobe. She leaned into her self-proclaimed ‘super tomboy’ phase, finding agency in always being dressed to play. While Nikki is pretty sure it still took her until ninth grade to purchase her first pair of jeans, she did reconcile this matching incident by trading in her basketball shorts for volleyball spandex. Well, those and an expansive collection of sweatpants, too.

A young Nikki flaunting her braces and "Nikki is Awesome" snapback. (Photo Courtesy/Nikki Steinheiser)

After beginning her competitive volleyball career in seventh grade, it was only a matter of time before her powerhouse skillset and determination landed her an offer. She committed to play volleyball at Boston College at just fourteen years old, where her requirements for a ‘good fit’ were shortlisted to a strong athletic program.

But when Nikki finally stepped foot in Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts — four years later and a quite a few inches taller — that prepubescent mirror morphed into a fully formed, fully unforgiving magnifying glass. All of her greatest contradictions were on display, and she had never seen so many variations of skirts in her life.

Nikki gives skirts and knee high boots a whirl for going out. (Photo Courtesy/Nikki Steinheiser)

“I just went to the nearest J. Crew and tried to fit in,” a now 21-year-old Nikki confesses through a belly laugh.“Like my roommate freshman year, she's from Connecticut, and we had such vastly different fashion. And I would just look at her like, ‘I've never seen that in a store, period, and you have a whole closet worth, like, where are you getting this from?’”

Admittedly, Nikki had come to recognize and accept what it meant to ‘dress like a college girl,’ especially in the social scene. Revealed skin somehow proved itself necessary camouflage at a local bar or party. While it was an uncomfortable juxtaposition, it was useful. But what bothered her the most was that even in her greatest passion, the male gaze was the dominant lens of the magnifying glass. It never focused on the right things.

“Well, who am I? If it's not volleyball. Who am I? If it's not, you know, no one told me I was smart or able. They always just told me I was athletic, right?”

“It's just the revolving comment of the ‘volleyball ass.’ It would follow me, not just when I was on the court, but if there was an intimate moment with a guy, or if people knew I was on the volleyball team, then they felt that they could comment on my body,” Nikki explains, distaste lacing her description. The same body that powered through drills and fought for games was dissected in passing whispers and pointed catcalls. And it was tired.

The more she felt worn down emotionally, the more her physical health followed suit. Nikki rambles off her unyielding list of injuries, keeping count with her fingers, “I was out my freshman year for 10 weeks because I refractured my back. I had like, two or three concussions. I dislocated and bruised my rib, tore my shoulder, tore my knee, just one thing on another.”

With every bloodied, broken or bruised limb, the fractures in her fulfillment deepened. Volleyball was no longer a joy, it was a job. One with audiences and ambulances she never asked for, at that. After preseason of her junior year, Nikki did what anyone should do when the job starts to take more than it gives — she retired. As did her uniform.

It was fall semester. The leaves were changing. So was she. “Well, who am I? If it's not volleyball. Who am I? If it's not, you know, no one told me I was smart or able. They always just told me I was athletic, right?” Nikki revisits the defining questions of her rehabilitation.“And so it was like, okay, just really having to reframe the way I thought about myself, and kind of also teach the people in my life that I needed a different approach when it came to how they spoke to me.”

It was spring semester. The lens was changing. So was she. “Being an athlete was just kind of the cloth that I wore. It was just always like the forefront thing. If I was uncomfortable in a situation, social anxiety at peak, I'm more introverted. Someone asked, ‘Oh, are you on the volleyball team?’ It was a good talking point. Fashion kind of took that over. But instead of, you know me being an athlete, it was like, well, this is who I am, and this is how I feel. This outfit represents me,” Nikki explains.

Now quickly approaching her final day of college as an applied psychology major, Nikki understands fashion as a vessel for accepting the spectrum of self-definition. It’s a conversation between the past and the present, a way to reconcile the athlete she was with the woman she’s becoming.

A classic pop of color in Nikki's streetwear style. (Photo Courtesy/Nikki Steinheiser)

She shows me her neon purple puffer coat she paired with a yellow bedazzled sweatshirt for the day, reminiscent of the colorful tennis shoes the little girl in her still adores.“I don't think I would have the streetwear element if I didn't have the crazy tomboy phase. And then I don't think I would have the preppy, or the more, like, I don't know, when I feel extra good about embracing my feminine side if I didn't go to BC, or if I wasn't pushed,”Nikki reflects earnestly.

More recently, her favorite outfit combination strikes a balance she once struggled to find: a knee-high boot with a bit of a heel, a mini skirt that leaves space for her leg tattoos to shine, a smaller top and a baggier jacket to throw over it all. Her getting ready process is similar in nature. “I really love, like gospel music, or the duality of that is really hard rap. Like, there’s no in between. It's either I want to praise or I just want to ask for forgiveness later,” Nikki says, grinning matter-of-factly. There’s structure and ease, softness and edge — elements she never used to think could coexist in one look, let alone in herself.

It was strangely beautiful to think that a 9 year athletic career could be reduced to a talking point. With it, the magnifying glass exchanged for a microscope. The distortion of external judgements have faded, and in their place, Nikki has found clarity. Detailed and intentional, searching for meaning in the nuances instead of the noise, the dominant lens is Nikki’s point of view. It always focuses on the right things.

Session 02: Jude

“What do you want to do when you’re older?” A young Jude Sampson despised that question. Not just because it was an arbitrary ask to an elementary school kid — who wanted to design Lego sets at the time — but because it was an assumptive ask to picture his adult life as a woman. That’s something he couldn’t envision.

“My girl friends I had growing up, they all just seemed so comfortable. They would show up to school wearing something new, and everyone would be so excited to show their other friends. But whenever my mom sent me to school in ‘girl clothes,’ I was like, miserable, you know, and I just felt very, I think disconnected is a good word,” Jude tells me, eyes flickering upward. He’s not going to cry. He’s just remembering the agony of the dress sections at Kohl’s and Kmart.

Jude's regular ensemble prior to transitioning. (Photo Courtesy/Jude Sampson)

He pauses before offering an analogy that many of us know all too well; that dreaded moment when you’ve pictured the perfect outfit in your head, but when you put it on, it’s not at all what you were hoping for.“For me specifically, it's like, I would imagine me as I look now, putting that outfit on and wearing it, but it was me in high school when I had hair that went past my shoulders and when I hadn't been able to medically transition at all, when I didn't even admit to myself that I was trans yet,” Jude explains.

And in just a few minutes, he’s made two seemingly universal experiences feel distinctly personal. In both, a quiet reminder of the separation between how the world saw him and how he saw himself pre-op.

Jude came out to his family in middle school. It was 2014 to be exact, less than a year after same-sex marriage was legalized in California. But even in his hometown of San Pedro, he still describes it as the “hardest shit he’s ever done.” Save for seven years later, when he came out again as trans. This time, it didn’t stick as well with his parents. They still called him by his dead name for months, up until Christmas Day of 2021. His gift was their recognition.

At the end of 2022, Jude had yet another seemingly universal experience. He went to the doctor and got a physical. Only this time, he also got a referral for a gender affirming surgeon. Coupled with roughly a year and a half of therapy to receive a letter for top surgery, his appointment was scheduled for May 18, 2023.

He had to be at the hospital by 5 a.m., and he settled for black sweat shorts and a grey zip up hoodie. It wasn’t glamorous, but neither was his shower with medical soap and explicit rules not to wash his hair. “I was being so neurotic before surgery. And I had bought pajamas that I could get into easily, stuff that was going to be easy for me to put on. My sister helped me after surgery because there was a lot of stuff I couldn’t do on my own,” Jude sighs. He hates when people have to do things for him.

Jude and his older sister, Julia, as kids. (Photo Courtesy/Jude Sampson)

But Jude’s sister, Julia, wants to do things for him. She is six years his senior but his self-proclaimed “twin.” And sure, there were specific tasks he couldn’t muster by himself in recovery, but in retrospect, his whole life was actually filled with moments he couldn’t do on his own. Although, in typical younger sibling fashion, he’d never admit it to her face — Julia’s approval meant everything to him.

Julia was the first member of the family Jude came out to. The first time, she knew. The second time, she understood. In the moments between, she took him shopping. Now an unrelenting cinephile studying screenwriting at Cal State Long Beach, Jude would consider Julia his best supporting actress.

The two were constantly on adventurous car rides, many of them with Savers as a destination. “I started thrifting probably when I was in late middle school. She would take me to flea markets and thrift shops and that's when I started dressing for myself.” The more their bond was solidified between aisles and fitting rooms, it only made sense to immortalize it in ink. Matching Muppets tattoos, that is.

“It's from the original Muppet Movie. And there's a scene where Kermit and Fozzie are riding around in a car at the beginning of the movie. And we love that part of the movie so much,” Jude beams. “And so we went and got them together, and mine healed better than hers, so she's salty about that.”

Films have inspired much of Jude’s fashion sense. In fact, one of his earliest influences was during his first ever movie theatre experience with his mom and Julia at Warner Grand in downtown San Pedro. The Sandlot was the picture of choice. “Especially as a young boy, and like, not knowing that I was a boy, seeing this movie, of just boys hanging out and having fun, I wanted to dress like them. It was just jeans and T-shirts and Converse, but I really gravitated towards that,” Jude reminisces.

Currently, he finds himself buying a lot of formal wear and wearing it informally. He credits this habit to his mom’s affinity for Old Hollywood movies, where the standard for suit cuts were at their peak. Sometime in the next few years, Jude wants to buy a custom suit. Not the Macy’s kind. The kind you customize and get fitted for, like Gregory Peck’s in To Kill a Mockingbird.

"A few times this semester I've had people be like, ‘Oh, I like that shirt,’ or ‘Oh, I love your outfit.’ And like, little stuff like that just feels like, so cool, you know, because I never got that when I was younger.”

“Growing up, there were lots of funerals and weddings and things that we had to dress up for. My mom would put me in the same two dresses that I hated, and I never got to dress up how the boys in my family got to. Now, I buy long sleeve button ups, and I crop them and put patches on them and stuff,” Jude says.

At the core of his style evolution is a simple, but hard-earned desire:“I also just feel like, this sounds dorky, but something I just feel cool in. Like, I just want to feel cool when I'm walking around. I mean, a few times this semester I've had people be like, ‘Oh, I like that shirt,’ or ‘Oh, I love your outfit.’ And like, little stuff like hat just feels so cool, you know, because I never got that when I was younger.”

Pre-op, Jude used fashion as a form of safety. Post-op, he sees the value in fashion as an extension of selfhood. “Yeah. I mean, sometimes it's kind of a trip. Even after surgery and after having been medically transitioned for a good amount of time, I would say it's still kind of crazy to me sometimes that I can just get up in the morning and wear what I want to wear.”

As it turns out, he is exactly who he wanted to be when he grew up.

Session 03: Jam

There are few forces of power more illuminating than the Tennessee sun. And while Jamilah Muhammad is a bona fide southern belle, her descriptions of the rays are much less spotlights than they are sweat catalysts. And shadowcasters. It’s the type of warmth that lingers and sticks and commits itself to both skin and memory, not unlike her nickname, “Jam.” Oftentimes, her peers found solace in shorts and tank tops at the mercy of the heat, but she did not always have that luxury.

Jam poses for a fourth grade school picture. (Photo Courtesy/Jamilah Muhammad)

“We couldn't even show our shoulders, or even really our clavicles would lowkey be too much,” Jam runs her manicured nail over her exposed collarbone, demonstrating the extent of modesty she and the women in her life adhered to during her childhood. “Also, we couldn't wear, like, skin tight things. So no leggings, unless you were in the house or not around men.”

For Jam, fashion has always been a negotiation of identity, shaped by the dual influences of her Muslim faith and her southern Black roots. Growing up, she was hyper aware of how her body was received from both sides; her slim frame didn’t fit the celebrated ideals of Black womanhood, yet modesty in her Muslim community left little room for embracing it anyway. Wearing the wrong thing — “too fast,” “too grown,” “too revealing” — would invite scrutiny.

Jam chills in a streetwear look. (Photo Courtesy/Jamilah Muhammad)

“It felt like, no matter what I did or how I dressed, there would be a comment made on it by adults, honestly, most of the time. Like, I remember I wore skinny jeans to school one day, and someone who also went to the same mosque as we did, somebody's mom, she saw me going into the school, and she told my mom,” Jam recoils at the memory. “She basically was saying, ‘She doesn't need to be wearing that or else these boys are going to be all over her.’”

Enter the shadow of expectations. As Jam ventured into high school, it took on literal and metaphysical forms. “For some reason, it was a thing for guys to compare me and my best friend, who is short and light skinned and she has looser curls than me,” Jam explains. “It just made me feel like I needed to wear shoes that were had no platform at all, because it was like, I didn't want to make myself any less feminine, because already I'm tall, and already I'm dark, and I guess that's ‘scary.’”

Enter the shadow of eldest siblings. Jam’s brother, Jabbar, was quite the class act: MVP for both the track and football teams, a girl magnet and the poster child for class clown charisma. ”I didn't really have an identity while he was there because I was just his little sister. Then once I was a senior, he wasn't there. I was like, ‘Oh, wow. Like, I'm in school. It's my time to show who I am,’” Jam recalls the catalyst for her style shift.

A hundred or so Pinterest scrolls later, Jam threw herself into the immersive world of streetwear. While she has chosen not to be a full-time hijabi until she embarks on the journey of motherhood, she still aims to incorporate modesty into her looks by integrating oversized pieces. To balance the androgyny of baggier, more conservative silhouettes, she aims to add an air of femininity through her jewelry, hairstyles and various methods of tying or clipping her garments for texture. More often than not, she finds herself looking to nature for inspiration to enhance her bold color preferences.

Now, rather than being a point of contention, Jam views fashion as a point of connection. As she walks me through her outfit for a Saturday in Leimert Park, the intention in every detail is wildly apparent. Her navy athletic jacket was fit for both the elevated coffee shop she’d taken our meeting in and the cookout she is attending shortly after. Leaving it unzipped about a quarter, at her heart’s center is a gaudy gold necklace, twisted into a rope-like shape that met the neckline of her tank top.

“So it’s a bendable necklace, right? And you can literally make it whatever configuration you want to. And I just thought this was really cool, and all the Black aunties over here just have really nice jewelry and all the vendors too,” Jam beams, sharing her love for fashion’s ability to enhance community and affirmation.

Not even two minutes pass before a woman leaving, latte in hand, compliments Jam’s hair. Today, her braids are adorned with tiny red spheres, earrings she had decided that morning would complete her primary color palette for the day. Before the woman slips out of the door, Jam calls her beautiful. It’s not courtesy, it’s kismet. Jam already decided she wanted to tell her that while she was ordering at the register.

The corners of her lips still turned up from the interaction, she continues to run through her outfit with me. When we make it to her shoes, she’s wearing New Balances. They have a platform. I ask her how it makes her feel. She says,“That makes me feel so good, because I know how far it took and how long it took me to be that comfortable with myself, for me to embrace my height and my body, and so it really means a lot to me, because I'm making my younger self happy honestly.”

What once felt like a battle to define herself in the shadows has evolved into a passion spent fully standing in her light. At 22 years old, Jam has modeled for several streetwear brands, landed sneaker campaigns and walked in L.A. Fashion Week twice in the span of two years. In her experience, creative directors have allowed her the space to show herself in the looks, and her Tennessee roots shine through.

Jam rocks her cowboy boots with a maxi skirt and fur coat. (Photo Courtesy/Jamilah Muhammad)

“Whenever I find pieces that remind me of home, I’ll get them. I just got this horseshoe ring, and it's my favorite thing right now,” Jam twiddles the band on her index finger. “I'm trying to grow my boot collection, and also, like, just find out different ways that I can show who I am just by looking at me.”

She describes getting ready as medicine.“When I bring my full self and allow myself to be seen by other people, then I also have an opportunity to see them and let them know also that I see them, because I don't think we do a great job of letting each other know that we're witnessing each other,”Jam says. “That's like one of my favorite parts of southern hospitality in the world. And so this is kind of how I carry that on, by just wondering myself and letting other people know we're not actually alone.”

In the truest essence of her nickname, Jam preserves. Not just the memories or pieces of home woven into her wardrobe, but a sense of self that refuses to be diminished. She knows the power of warmth. Jam carries the Tennessee sun inside of her, radiating confidence, connection and a quiet resilience.

Session 04: Alice

Alice Liu has a standard clarification built into her introductions: “It’s Alice… like Alice in Wonderland.” A run-of-the-mill reference to some, a quiet prophecy to her. Before pursuing filmmaking at the University of Southern California, Alice answered to Yumeng Liu in her hometown of Qingdao, China. Yumeng — “rain falling down to nurture the sprouts” — a name that, much like her, was destined for transformation.

As a child, she twirled through life dressed as Belle from Beauty and the Beast, enchanted by princesses, protagonists and the promise of reinvention. Now, Los Angeles has been her own personal Wonderland. A place where she’s learned to navigate a world unlike the one she was accustomed to, reshaping herself along the way. Unfamiliar, yet full of possibility. Spoiler alert: this former Belle wears Birkenstocks.

“I love Birkenstock now, but the first time I see them, I'm just like, it make you look like Mickey Mouse shoes,”Alice shakes her head at the thought. “I had a long time to figuring out, why is that the thing? Because, I felt like the Chinese outdoor slippers are more slim, but Birken have a really wide foot, and now I wear them every day.”

The Birks are a crucial part of Alice’s self-imposed uniform, complete with a Patagonia jacket and grey sweatpants. So much so, that she declined a birthday party theme where friends were supposed to dress up as her because she knew they would all show up wearing the same thing. But what’s a silly anecdote now was once a sure-fire was to disappear in a crowd. Learning the laws of Wonderland wasn’t easy.

Alice takes a shopping stroll in her Prada loafers. (Photo Courtesy/Alice Liu)

For her 18th birthday at home, Alice’s mom gifted her two Miu Miu dresses for a photoshoot. In China, “People love to wear brand. People love to wear designer. You have to know it's a designer. It can’t be something hidden,” Alice explains, holding up her Margiela ballet slippers and heeled Prada boots. Both sit idly by on a shoe rack in her L.A. apartment unless summoned for a special occasion.

In L.A., luxury is quiet. And for a while, Alice thought she had to be too.

She recalls her first year studying television and film production at USC,“I know we're in the same cohort, but I don't feel like they welcome me, because, first of all, I don't want to talk to them, because I judge my English speaking skill a lot. I got the lowest score on my TOEFL, like the English test, for six times the same low score, and I don't feel confident speaking English, so I don't want to talk to anyone, so I just say I felt better invisible.” Thus, the uniform was born.

The original purpose of blending in aside, Alice was pleased to shave off at least half an hour of her getting ready process. She could focus less on what she was wearing day-to-day and more about what she was creating for the semesters ahead. As time rolled by and she settled further into her filmmaking journey, she found herself less interested in disappearing and more in making statements. Especially last semester, fall of her junior year — the formidable CTPR310: Intermediate Production class.

Over the course of 15 weeks, her cohort was split into various groups of three. Each group member rotated through the major disciplines of producing, directing, cinematography, editing and sound design as they worked to execute three short films. It was equal parts grueling and rewarding.

“We're just like, it's so stressful, but you got three screening, and you got to wear whatever you want, and you got to stand up and give a speech and everything,” Alice remembers. “So I was just thinking about this moment and what I'm gonna wear for a really long time.”

The summer before, she designed and purchased a qipao with the sole purpose of debuting it at her 310 screening. The Chinese traditional dress was custom tailored to fit her perfectly at a local store in her hometown that specializes in wedding and occasion qipaos. When the time came to premiere her short film, she swore she couldn’t turn a corner without a compliment — on her work and her wardrobe.

Her film, “Better Me,” explores generational trauma through a single mom battling her young daughter over the weight of pregnancy while being haunted by the ghost of her own mother’s judgement. With dark themes in an even darker theater, Alice’s white qipao served as a beacon of light in more ways than one.“So I choose a white one because it have a butterfly,” Alice said. “And when my grandma passed away, I saw butterfly twice that day, I don't see butterfly.”

Although being a part of a close knit trio of women was oftentimes more dynamic than dysfunctional when her grandmother was still alive, their relationship was just as pivotal as the one explored in the film. Alice credits her mom and grandmother for being two of her biggest fashion influences. They would usually argue over what was appropriate (and sometimes just “cuter”) for Alice to wear to school growing up. Her mom usually won. But this qipao was a win for them all.

A young Alice poses in an outfit her mom helped her choose. (Photo Courtesy/Alice Liu)

“Oh, another thing I really like is, I have a panda chain with my mom,” Alice revels in just the mention of her as she displays the rhinestoned figurine. “This is small. I bought it at a small store. And I'm like, ‘Mom, you are forced to put this on your bag.’ My mom's like, ‘No, too immature.’ But this make me feel most motivated, because I feel connected to my mom.”

Her uniform may suit the L.A. lifestyle, but her keychain, her qipao, and the choices she makes for herself speak to something deeper — her name, her heritage, her roots. When I asked why she stylizes her initial necklace with an ‘L’ instead of an ‘A,’ she told me matter-of-factly, “I choose a L, not like, A for Alice kind of thing is, is another choice. Everyone's like ‘A’ look better, and I'm just gonna wear ‘L.’

Because, well, this isn’t Alice in Wonderland. It’s Alice Liu’s Wonderland. We’re just living in it.

Session 05: James

The name’s Nurlu… James Nurlu. It’s not everyday that your fictional role model shares your namesake. A young James Nurlu found early inspiration from James Bond; whether he was dodging bullets in the desert or suavely ordering a martini, Bond was always dressed to the nines. It only tracks that this now 26-year-old finance professional can sum up his style in three words: dapper, classic and gentlemanly.

James poses with his sisters, parents and dog for a family photoshoot. (Photo Courtesy/James Nurlu)

With a British mother, a Turkish father and a childhood that took him from France to Aspen, Colorado, James was exposed to a range of fashion cultures that emphasize quality over quantity. “I think in America, people here are very into fast fashion, a lot of trends,” James reflects. “A person might have 20 different T-shirts, but they're kind of cheaper. But in Europe, maybe someone might have five or six, but they're spending a little more emphasis on quality and designer brands.”

Whereas other kids were watching Nickelodeon, James was analyzing Gossip Girl with his two older sisters, Rebecca and Francesca. He took mental notes, watching the way they reacted to characters like Chuck Bass. "I would see what the guys were wearing that they were gushing over,” James remembers. “I would just kind of take notes of like, ‘Hey, these girls are going crazy for this guy.’ What does he have on?”

Clothes were something you bought. Style was the aura they created.

Baby James is held by his father. (Photo Courtesy/James Nurlu)

James’ father, always sharply styled, commanded a level of respect he found admirable."You could just tell by the way people treated him, whether we were at the grocery store or his office. Seeing that at a young age made me want to put an emphasis on looking clean,” James says.

While his interest in fashion didn’t begin in tailored shirts and dress shoes — it started in skater culture with skinny jeans, band tees and Nike SBs laced up tight — James inevitably found his way back to the polished aesthetic he’d been immersed in early on. As high school approached, he realized that with a permanent record came a permanent perception.

James embraces his "skater boy" aesthetic. (Photo Courtesy/James Nurlu)

"During that time, I was like, ‘Let me change my look,’” James recalls. “I started getting into a lot more college shirts, and a lot more preppier, well-put together stuff. And a lot of the people in my middle school were like, ‘Hey, who's this guy?’ They had no recognition.”

For James, dressing well isn’t about vanity; it’s about strategy. It’s about self-respect, the subtle psychology of impressions, and, in many ways, control. "Instead of wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt to school, you're wearing a crisp polo, some slacks," he paints a picture of his high school experience in Aspen."And then when there's a presentation, you’d have to wear a suit. That feeling of having a suit, where people give you compliments or admire you. You felt a little more powerful."

And if the world saw you differently, it might just open doors you didn’t even know existed. That emphasis stuck with James. In college at UT Austin, his wardrobe had to serve multiple purposes; business lectures, work shifts at Allen Edmonds and social outings all in the same day. Slacks and a button-up became his default.

Even now, he catches himself slipping into his tennis or golf clothes for errands and stops to reconsider. "I’ve been trying to be more conscious of that. When we go out, we’re in nice shoes and a nice T-shirt." While working from home, he manages an elevated look to suit the overcast weather in Dallas. He wears a thick flannel button up from Nordstrom with an Abercrombie polo underneath, pants from the Turkish brand Mafi and Birkenstocks — his designated house slippers. No athleisure in sight, not even on the bottom.

James has spent years curating his style, refining it the way Bond refines his approach to a mission. Part of that process means knowing what lasts. "I'll have older clothes, but all more classic styles. You know, like a white Oxford button up, that's never going to go out of style,” James insists. Watches, too, play a role in his arsenal. "Watches are huge to me. I have a pretty extensive collection. I think it’s kind of like a boys’ club. You think you get a lot of attention, but only people who are really in that niche would know."

That awareness extends beyond himself now. His nephew looks up to him, mimicking his haircut, his style choices, even the way he carries himself. "Like my sister or dad would try to motivate him to do something, they’d be like, ‘Uncle James would do this,’ James grins proudly. “I really enjoy spoiling him. I’ll pretty much buy him anything he asked for. I’ve definitely gotten him some clothing.”

James sports a classic watch on a sunny day. (Photo Courtesy/James Nurlu)

At its core, James’ approach to style is about effort. "You kind of take that time — trim up your beard, get a haircut. You’re going to feel and look different," he explains his biweekly grooming regimen. It’s the reason he spends time browsing sites like Dappered, keeping up with new releases and styling tips. The reason he instinctively prepares his outfits the night before, a habit that started in high school when he realized those extra minutes saved in the morning meant more sleep and less decision fatigue.

His next venture? A golf trip with friends. "I need to go shopping so I don’t look like the rookie that I am," James chuckles. Because even when he’s stepping into unfamiliar territory, James understands one thing: looking the part is half the battle. Or mission. You know, if you’re James Bond.